lose me among the heroes
by withnorthernlights
Summary: maybe the only way for you to know how much I love you is to count the stars inbetween us
1. Gold

" _Eyes are the window to the soul." –William Shakespeare_

* * *

Piper gasped, doubling over in pain. Her breaths heaved in and out and she collapsed onto the floor. Gravel clung to her shirt and jeans and her dagger poked a droplet of blood into her side, ripping through a few seams in her white shirt. She clutched desperately at her throat, her eyes bulging, lips whispering words only the voice inside her head could hear.

"No… no… NO!" Her heartbeat had skyrocketed and beads of sweat rolled down her face, soaking the fringes of her bangs and sticking to her skin. Her forehead glistened under the flickering streetlights. Somewhere in the back of her blurry mind, a thought stuck out among the others: _why hasn't anyone found me yet?_ Then the pain lit up again and her glimpses of reality flashed away.

"Please… don't… take…" Piper's eyes, her beautiful, kaleidoscope eyes were fading. Lights flashed in and out of her irises: Blue. Green. Brown. Gold. The colors flickered even faster and Piper gasped for air.

People always said that sometimes they were one, sometimes two, sometimes five colors. The swirl of patternless mismatch was part of what gave her eyes their beauty.

There they went again. Blue. Green. Brown. Gold.

Blue.

Green.

Brown.

Gold

Piper writhed on the ground, her hair stuck to her face, her braid undone. The blot of blood in her side grew as the sharp end of her dagger caused spots to dance on the backs of her blinking eyelids. She couldn't even feel the stinging pain as a spot of blood became more, staining the white fabric a sickly red. Her eyes glinted eerily in the dim light.

Blue…

Then they were a mix.

Blue… green… brown… gold.

As each color flared into her irises, Piper's spasms only grew stronger. Then, the spiral stopped and only gold remained. Piper stood up suddenly, the fear that was in her eyes a moment ago now gone. A malicious smile crept onto her face. She took a deep breath and brandished her dagger.

"I am Lord Kronos, and I rise again."


	2. Flame

" _I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me." –Joshua Graham_

* * *

Leo stared. There was fire, fire everywhere. The red and orange flames engulfed the room, sending up thick clouds of gray dust. He couldn't stop blinking, or staring at the sea of fire around him. Everything was hot, burning hot, and everything was on fire.

Smoke filled his eyes and Leo coughed uncontrollably. The fire licked at his skin but he was immune to the burns. There was a reason–there had to be–or else why would Hazel call him here?

Then he saw it, in the center of the flames. There was a small piece of wood, in the middle of the burning fire. Sparks flashed in ten different places and it was already beginning to burn. Thin slivers of wood incinerated, the stick getting smaller and smaller as time wore on. Each second was another flare of light, another piece burnt off. Floating a few inches above it was what looked like a silvery aura of mist. It bobbed up and down, as if unsure of whether or not to disappear.

As the wood burned, the cinders that drifted upward seemed to spark a fire in the mist; it was simultaneously evaporation as the fire raged on.

Understanding flickered in Leo's dark eyes and he jogged through the flames, his eyes watering with the smoke and ash in the air. His breaths heaved in and out as the heat enveloped his lungs, squeezing tight with a burning fist. On the floor above him, Leo could hear a tortured cry and a desperate gasp for help. The voice was suffocating, suffocating in a cruel fate.

He hurried faster and grabbed the piece of wood, harsh splinters digging mercilessly into his skin. It was on fire already and the heat smashed into Leo with unusual force. The flames inside of _him_ rose to the surface and a tendril of fire curled from his fingertips.

When his hands ran over the surface, the flash of light ignited with the sparks that already glinted on his knuckles. The whole thing burst into flames.

"No!" Leo cried, desperately trying to put out the fire. There was no extinguisher, no water, nothing that could undo what he had done. "NO!"

Above him, the scream became a cry, then stopped abruptly, as if the air had been pushed out in one sudden, sickening moment. He felt like time had come to a dead halt, yet the seconds still ticked by steadily. Leo looked down into his hands to see nothing but splinters of cinder and ash.


	3. Memory

" _I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry." –Cat Stevens_

* * *

Luke peered into the churning depths of the water, his gaze unwavering. "Are–are you sure about this?" Annabeth asked.

Luke nodded faintly, although years of timeworn friendship displayed the fear plainly in his crystal blue eyes. Annabeth's expression was uncertain, but she whispered an "If you say so."

Three chances, he'd had. Three chances, and no matter how hard Annabeth asked Nico to plead to his father, that was all Luke was going to get–three chances.

Three chances, three souls, three lifetimes to find Thalia. And he never did.

He promised her he'd choose rebirth, promised her he'd find her–and he never did. Three times he'd been reborn into the mortal world, twice as a mortal and once as a demigod. And each time, there was a pricking sensation that he could never quite fully grasp in the back of his mind that he, himself wasn't important; he had something to do, something–someone he had to find. And so he looked.

For three generations, three lives, in three souls he looked for her. And after every death, his soul–Luke's soul–remembered her again. The flash of her sharp blue yes, the strands of her dark, black hair, the attitude that made her who she was. The whisper of the name _Thalia_. Glimpses of memories from so long ago reappeared for a split second in his mind. He savored those moments more than anything.

He told himself to try harder, and then was reborn again. But three lives were up, three centuries gone, and here he was, in the Isle of the Blest.

He'd waited a little more, hoped that she would find Elysium, find Annabeth, find _him_. But he'd waited too long. Some immortals lasted longer than others. And Thalia just happened to be one of them.

The cracks in his heart were too big, too long, too permanent to fix. His eternal soul was fragmented into pieces that even time couldn't heal.

And after asking Annabeth and saying his goodbyes, he made a choice. His last choice. He opened his eyes. Crystal blue. They began to fill with silver tears. Luke glanced at Annabeth one last time. She was grown up and she had grieved so much for so many. Now she was going to grieve for him one last time. Again.

Underneath, he still saw the scared little girl he and Thalia had found huddled on the street corner. Luke pressed the image of them in his mind so that maybe, if he tried hard enough, the last thing he saw could be them.

Luke breathed in shakily and dove into the River Lethe.


	4. Locket

" _Sometimes, the smallest things take up the most room in your heart." –Winnie the Pooh_

* * *

Annabeth smiled gently and gingerly ran her thumb over the smooth cover of the locket. As cliché as it was, it was plated in pure gold that she had tinted blue. It still sparkled just as brightly after all these years. The weight of it hung down onto a familiar place on her chest, a light presence that she learned to expect each day.

The front was engraved with an image of a pegasus (Blackjack, to be precise, but thinking about him made her heart burn) but years of rubbing it habitually had nearly worn the picture flat. The blurry lines of wings and a proud head and mane still stood out just as clearly. The simple action of running her finger back and forth across the pendant had served as one of the comforts she had left.

Annabeth snapped the locket open and stared at the photograph inside. The small clasp was nearly broken from constant opening and closing. Waves of bittersweet nostalgia poured over her like rain but he couldn't tear her eyes away, even though they were filling with tears. As delicately as she handled it, time had crinkled the edges of the image, yet the picture inside still enraptured her the same way it did when she first saw it so long ago.

Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, a few stray tears dripping down onto her face, hot and heavy against her cheeks. Calypso's curse had taken its toll at the very last moment, and now he was gone.

So many years had passed; so long she had gone with pain, sorrow, anger, and regret burning separate fires into the fragile walls of her soul. She knew this was her last chance–her only chance–and she had to take it.

Annabeth made her choice, and for the last time, looked into the green eyes that the locket held. "I'll see you in Elysium, Seaweed Brain. You can't see me anymore, but at least you'll be at home."

Annabeth closed the locket gently, and with her gray eyes closed, flung it into the sea, turning away as the foamy wave folded over the small piece of gold as it sank beneath the translucent surface of the water.

She took a shaky breath and opened her eyes, letting the soft spray of salt that drifted from the ocean wash over her. Time to move on. Time to let go. Time to begin again. She forced the rest of the tears down.

"I, Annabeth Chase, pledge myself to the Goddess Artemis."


	5. Hope

" _Knowing someone isn't coming back doesn't mean you ever stop waiting." –Toby Barlow_

* * *

Reyna grimaced slightly, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps. Each inhale was just another stab of pain ripping through her chest. She blinked, dazed, and from her position on the floor, the sky was gray and blurry to her weary eyes.

A silver arrow stuck out of her side, the area around it leaking a sticky red. She had no energy–or will–left to rip it out, and with no poultice, it would just hurt more. At this point, pain was just a numb sensation that her brain had no strength left to compute.

The bottom of her toga was dirty and shredded, streaked with long gashes of blood–her enemies' and her own. The rubber band that held her braid together was long gone. Along with it was her sense of hope.

Hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing.

Hope made you happy, made you wistful, lighted a few yearning smiles in the inky darkness that life created.

But hope was like the Fates: unpredictable and cruel.

It was tempting, contagious, disguised as false joy. Hope was as useless as counterfeit money; once you got caught, there was no going back. Reyna had long since abandoned the prospect of hope. She didn't know how long she had been lying on the ground, her blood staining the grass red, but she did know that it was long enough.

Long enough to stop wishing, stop praying. Long enough to remember that this time, she couldn't escape the binds of death again.

Long enough to start letting the tears fall, one by one. Warm, salted drops of water escaped her blank eyes, streaking across her dusty face. The time of pride was over. They had gone for too long in victory, happiness, and peace. Now there was nothing left but empty wishes and broken promises and miles of a dismal ground stained a dark, bitter red.

Praetors didn't allow themselves to hope. Praetors didn't allow themselves a weakness. Praetors didn't allow themselves to love.

She had followed all those rules. _Almost._

Yet, among the bloodstained grass, Reyna felt herself dying.

Dying with no one watching. Dying with no one to mourn for her. Dying with no one around.

She could feel the meaningless tick of time beating a rhythm that matched her slowing heartbeat. Passing by seconds that were too slow, yet still managed to suffocate her with the agonizingly even pace that they followed.

But through her tired eyes, she could see a figure with blond hair and a white toga rushing towards her. He was calling, calling her name. Reyna smiled slightly, a dim light flickering in her empty eyes; for once in her life since she was a little girl, she could hope again.

The praetor took in a deep breath and closed her eyes for good.


	6. Autumn

" _Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence." –Yoko Ono_

* * *

Percy used to love autumn, when the dry leaves would crumble off of the branches and fall in endless shades of scarlet and crimson. It was when he would always complain to his mom, his friends, and anyone else who would listen about "why didn't they turn blue", and how it was a "discrimination of leaf color".

Autumn was when some of the kids from SPQR came over (CHB visited in the spring) and he would stay up all night in his cabin with the Romans. They'd push away tears to conjure up broken, bittersweet smiles of the loved and the lost when they tried to laugh about Gaea, Kronos, his nosebleed that almost blew up the world, and whatnot. Even after they left for their own camp, Percy would still stare at their faces, trying to memorize the features of his best friends through the cloudy, iridescent rainbows of his Iris Message.

Autumn was when the sun started to vanish behind darker, misty clouds, giving way to brittle air that was frosted with the early undertones of winter, the crisp, new feeling of cold creeping up in icy tendrils along the inside of his jacket. At this time of the year, he was the only one left who could go swimming without freezing his trunks off.

Autumn was when Annabeth would constantly have to remind him that there was an "n" on the end of the name of the season (even though he could barely spell the rest of the word and claimed that it was because he liked to say "fall" better).

Autumn was a time when his days were a little bit shorter, yet the muted, gray mornings that gave way to crisp, shadowy nights somehow made his life feel a little longer, a little brighter.

But then autumn was when they came.

Autumn was when they took her. Autumn was when his fatal flaw mercilessly smashed the small part of his heart that she had always kept inside of hers. Autumn was when he ran to save the two new halfbloods–crying and wailing, tears trailing paths down their faces–and didn't see her, crying even louder inside. Autumn was when she screamed his name and he turned around a little too late. Autumn was when the light shattered to dark pieces of broken promises and even more years of hard-earned grief in his sea-green eyes.

And now, autumn was a little dimmer than it was before.


	7. Grief

" _I've cried, and you'd think I'd be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life." –Conor Oberst_

* * *

Will looked up slowly, his tearstained eyes glaring at the boy before him.

"It's okay, Will," Percy managed, patting his friend awkwardly on the back. "Everything's going to be okay…"

Will shook his head feverishly, sweat and tears stuck to his cheeks. "No," he choked out. "No, it's not. It's not going to be okay. Not now, not ever!" Grief seeped thickly from his voice. He sent Percy an accusing look before turning away, doubling over in pain.

"Look, Will," Percy started. "I know that you're sad–"

"No!" Will shouted suddenly. "No apologies, no pity, no condolences. Especially not from you."

Guilt flooded into the son of Poseidon's eyes, but Will didn't stop there. "This… all of this…" He motioned around wildly with his arms. "It's _your fault_!"

He was shaking now, shivering with cold, fear, and the still-fresh loss that numbed his mind. The ever-present sunshine had disappeared from his eyes, replaced with a cold darkness.

"He did it to save you, you know that? He loved me, but I guess he loved you more." Percy just stared at him, confused.

"What are you talking about? Of course he loves–" Will just kept glaring at him and the other boy broke off his sentence.

"How could he do this?" Will murmured, mostly talking to himself now. "How could he just leave me here? How could he just _die_ like that?"

Will curled up on the floor of the cabin, his knees pulled to his chest, salted tears leaking out of his eyes streaking wet paths down his cheeks. The image of a small, broken body kept flashing in his mind. When it crumpled to the ground, a part of Will did too. Hurt and bitter memory laced through him, shooting fiery spikes of pain across his body. The empty space of loss left over was more difficult to deal with than the goodbye.

But his goodbye had been short and sharp, and his bliss and joy had been ripped away from him faster than he could comprehend. Will had heard of lost love, had heard of misery and agony and sorrow. He had heard of it all, seen what it could do to a person. He himself had whispered comforting words to patients in the infirmary. They were victims of a battle and they had survived, even though their loved ones had not.

Will had been through all of this, but never firsthand.

Until now.

He had never understood why the patients poured out tears like rain or brushed away his soft words of comfort, never understood why they cried even when their wounds were healed,

Until now.

It wasn't until now that Will really understood the aching gap left behind. Now he knew what it truly meant to miss someone, someone who you didn't even get a chance to say your last words to.

Grief was a cold, vicious thing, and when you felt it, it came on full blast. Centers of sadness were full-immersion, a language that only you spoke yet you didn't want anyone else to learn.

Percy bit his lip. "No, Will…" he whispered with a sad smile. "Nico took that arrow to his gut, but it wasn't for me, it was for you. The archer was aiming for you."


	8. Forget

" _By forgetting the past and by throwing myself into other interests, I forget to worry." –Jack Dempsey_

* * *

The door blew open and Percy came crashing in, holding a messily baked cake that he was trying his best not to drop on the pristine floor of the Athena cabin. The rest of the campers were outside, working on a new strategy for Capture the Flag. He knew Annabeth always slept in on her birthday, and considering how much she did for them, her half-siblings usually let her.

The flames on the candles flickered in the wind that slipped through the cracks in the door that Percy hadn't bothered to close.

"Annabeth?" he whispered quietly, in case she was still asleep. "Wise Girl? You awake yet?" He expected a sleepy groan of some sort, or a quiet call of _"go away"_ but this morning, there was only silence.

The door creaked again and a demigod with brown hair, gray eyes, and fair skin poked her head in.

"Sorry…" she muttered, reaching onto her bed for a paper that was marked with neat handwriting and careful drawings on both sides. "Forgot this…"

She looked up, as if seeing the boy in the cabin for the first time. "Oh!" she said suddenly. "You're… you're Percy Jackson, aren't you?"

Percy nodded, gesturing to the cake in his hand. "I'm here for Annabeth," he replied with a goofy grin.

The girl sighed, hesitating for a moment before setting the paper in her hand back onto her mattress. She tipped her head back slightly, leaning against the wooden doorframe. "He said this might happen," she whispered, pressing two fingers to her temples.

Percy just stared at her, confused. "Who–who said what might happen?" he asked. The girl pressed her lips together.

"Chiron… He said… he said that you might forget sometimes," she replied slowly, waiting for any of her words to trigger something–anything–of Percy's memory.

The air of elation that swirled around him evaporated. "He said that I might forget… what?" Percy asked carefully. The girl sighed again.

"Well… he said that you would probably come in here today…"

"That doesn't answer my question. What might I forget?"

The girl brushed a lock of hair out of her gray eyes. "Forget that… well…" She took a deep breath. "Chiron said that you might forget that she's… that she's…" Tears filled her eyes.

Percy stared at her, horrified. "That she's gone," he finished for her. "That… that Wise Girl's gone…"

Understanding and bitter memories flashed in his eyes. "She's… gone…"


	9. Stars

" _Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." –Norman Vincent Peale_

* * *

Annabeth took a deep breath, clutching Percy's hand tightly in hers. They stood up, walking over to Thalia. The Huntress smiled at them, raising a delicate eyebrow. "Are you two ready?" Her strikingly blue eyes flashed with hidden lightning and seemed to bore into theirs.

Annabeth nodded. "Yeah…" Percy muttered, his gaze flickering around restlessly in the night air. Thalia led them over to Artemis, who smiled gently at Annabeth and gave Percy a single nod.

"Thank you Thalia," she said. "Now, Percy and Annabeth, I understand that you would like me to help you with something?"

Percy cleared his throat. "Um, yeah. It's actually… a request… from someone who couldn't ask you himself."

Artemis nodded slowly. "Very well," she said, turning around to face the edge of the empty clearing. "Thalia has told me what you require." Her copper braid whipped over her shoulder in a swift, fluid motion. She took her bow in her hand and notched a single, silver arrow. "Do you understand what you must do?"

Annabeth closed her eyes. "We do."

"Are you ready?" Artemis asked, her steady gaze never wavering from the tip of the arrow.

"Yes."

Artemis fired the arrow; it flew up, up, up into the array of twinkling constellations. They stood there for a moment, waiting, before the goddess smiled.

"Look up," she whispered, her own eyes glancing skyward. The dark, night sky flashed in an array of light, but none of the demigods paid any attention to any of the nearly blinding flashes. Their eyes only sought out a specific one that seemed to glow brighter than the others–a constellation among stars. Its figure stood out against the black sky, almost hidden amongst the collection of the other images. Artemis raised her arm to the firmament above them.

"Speak."

Percy began first. "My Lady," he said. And then simply, "Zoë." He bit his lip. "I know we may have had our differences in the past, but I want to put that behind us. I have a message for you, from one far in the realms below us…" His voice caught in his throat and Annabeth took on the rest of the words.

"You may know him by another name, as your father knew him–Iapetus. These words are simple, yet they were–are his life, his last wish."

Annabeth took a deep breath and looked up at the stars that made up the huntress standing in the heavens. "Bob says hello," she whispered softly.


	10. Future

" _Only you can control your future." –Dr. Seuss_

* * *

He loved her.

He really did.

But sometimes, he just sat down and thought about what would happen if he had chosen someone else. Because his whole life would change.

Destiny was a strange thing; sometimes you got to choose your own, sometimes the Fates had planned out the road of your life since before you were born.

He accepted the path that Fate had given him, and the girl he was meant to spend his life with.

He loved her, after all.

But at the end of a too-perfect night he spent with her, wrapped up in their serene little fantasy of happiness, a voice in the back of his mind flared. It whispered unpredictable things–wishes that he didn't even know lived in the shadowy corners of his mind. But they were there.

The voice was soft and slit through his thoughts like flashes of quicksilver, saying things, dangerous things, like "what if" and "maybe". Things he would never say on his own.

The voice spoke up, conjured thoughts he would be too scared to dream. It asked him questions, questions he didn't know the answers to and wasn't sure if he ever wanted to find out. The little voice questioned his life, his choices, everything he had ever done.

"What if," if whispered. "What if you didn't love her?"

"What if you never did?"

He tried to deny it, to bury it, but the voice smothered his own. It flashed a memory of dancing and spinning in the last rays of sunlight with a girl that wasn't the one from his perfect bubble of life. The image was from so long ago, he could barely remember it, but he held on tight, just to have it slip away again.

"What if," it began again. "What if you found love… with someone else?"

He could see it now–the life he never lived, never chose. The other path, the other option, the danger, the risk. The ideas he didn't allow to even enter his mind, because he was a safe person and change was hard.

"What if you picked someone else?"

The girl that shimmered into his vision didn't have choppy hair or eyes that spun like kaleidoscopes or a beauty that was simply given. Instead, her hair was long, tossed over her back in a braid that never seemed to come undone. Her eyes were as dark as the cruelty that she had forced herself to adapt to since she was only a little girl, robbed of her innocence. Her face had a different beauty to it that sometimes he wondered if only he could see.

But the voice, no matter how bitter, was right: Reyna was Jason's biggest "what if". He never had time to figure out if he loved her or not, but it didn't matter. Time had spun its web and his fate was ensnared; he could never go back.


	11. Sister

" _A sister is both your mirror - and your opposite." –Elizabeth Fishel_

* * *

The wooden door smashed open so hard Jason thought it would break. "Where. Is. She." Hylla ground out through gritted teeth. This wasn't a question. It was a demand.

Jason blinked innocence into his eyes but Hylla stopped him before he could manage any words. "And save your excuses. The truth, Grace."

He didn't even bother wondering on how she knew his name, or saw past the lie he hadn't even come up with yet. So the only thing that he let himself say was "it should've been me."

"No…"

The golden links of Queen Hippotyla's belt rang with noise as Hylla sank to her knees, defeat leaking into the sigh that barely escaped her lips. She didn't know why she trusted this boy, this boy that she didn't even know. But somehow, she knew he wasn't lying, knew that there was too much at stake, for _both_ of them.

"No…"

Desperation was in her voice and in the spark that left her eyes. Her last hope was gone. Her fingers rubbed back and forth at what looked like a worry line on her forehead. Jason bit his lip. Reyna had told him so much about her sister, things he wasn't sure why he even remembered. Reyna had told him everything once, but those times were gone. The line was a long white scar that Hylla had gotten from the pirates so long ago.

"She left just a few days ago…" Hylla whispered. It wasn't until now that the drops of water began to leak out of her eyes. It was an almost frightening thing to watch; strong, brave, powerful Hylla was breaking down. And he knew he was the cause.

Suddenly, she her gaze flickered up into lightning blue eyes with a deathly fury. "You loved her."

The confidence in her voice scared Jason. Hylla said it so matter of factly, her voice strangely calm–yet lethal–through her tears. She knew so much, and no matter what she said, he knew that it was the truth, without any doubt.

"I know you did." Hylla stood up. "So why didn't you save her?"

Her voice wasn't demanding anymore, just questioning and broken and so full of sorrow that Jason had to stop himself from answering her, from telling her the brutal truth.

What could he say? The truth was not an option, for the truth felt like a horrible lie. But how else could he say it? How else could he say that when the plunge of the silver dagger sought him out, Reyna was the one who felt the pain? How else could he say that it wasn't the other way around? How else could he say that her last breath of life was spent looking straight at him, whispering an "I love you" that was years too late?

So he let the shameful silence surround him as Hylla closed her eyes, finally letting the acceptance of her sister's death take over her.


	12. Sunshine

" _A day without sunshine is like, you know, night." –Steve Martin_

* * *

Leo bit his lip. "No, no, no… You're going to be okay… Everything's going to be okay…"

He was only trying to convince himself now. He was afraid to close his eyes–there were too many tears building up behind his eyelids. But what he saw when he opened his eyes only made more tears come.

He looked down into a set of eyes he learned to memorize, a face he could never see enough. Calypso coughed, convulsing in his arms as a thin trickle of blood ran out of the corner of her mouth. She gagged at the bitter taste of iron. Leo winced.

"It's okay," her eyes seemed to say. "I'll be okay."

But he knew it wasn't okay at all. Humor was a good way to hide the pain, but some wounds couldn't be masked. Some wounds even time couldn't heal.

His arms clenched tighter to her pale body, Calypso's slim frame seemed frailer than ever. There was a fire burning inside of him, a fire that he could let out. But what use was fire when a monster couldn't be burned?

"Leo…" she whispered. "Leo… It's going to take forever…" He didn't have to ask to understand what she meant. A poison wound like this would take hours to spread and fully take its course, which meant she would take hours to die.

Hours in pain. Hours in torment.

He looked at her pleadingly. "Please… No… Don't make me do this…"

Calypso closed her eyes, her body shaking from the injury. " _Please,_ Leo. I can't take this much longer…" The ends of her words drifted off, her voice slurring the syllables together. He knew he had to do it. He knew he needed to end her suffering right then and there.

But he couldn't.

He was being selfish; he wanted to keep her for himself in the last few minutes, until her final moments, be with her in her last breath. But she would be dying, in excruciating pain that would just get stronger as she got weaker, in every second that he delayed. He didn't want to be the cause of her pain.

But he couldn't stand to be the end of her.

"Leo…" Her voice was getting fainter as time ticked by. "You need to–need to do this…"

Leo bit his lip. His hand slid over to his side, where a small, silver dagger lay. His hands shook as his picked it up, raising it over her pale body.

"I'll miss you, Sunshine," he whispered, tears dripping onto her thin frame. He laid a gentle kiss on her lips and forced his hand down. Just before the silver tip reached her skin, he could see the corners of her bloodstained lips turning up.

Her last words escaped, so quiet he could barely hear, "I love you, Leo."

He caught the sound of her voice just as it began to fade and tucked it into the same place as he put his mother's. Another loved one he couldn't save.

"No."

Leo put the knife down again, staring at Calypso's still body.

"No."

Her eyes reopened. "What–what are you doing?" The desperation in her voice stabbed deep into him, but Leo wasn't changing his mind.

"I–I can't," he whispered, water still streaming from his eyes. "I can't _kill you_."

Calypso convulsed again, poison flowing thick in her veins. She settled after a painstaking moment. " _Please_. Do this for me. I can't keep–" She coughed, blood dotting her lips.

Leo shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry. But I can't."

And so the moments passed as her complaints grew weaker and then even opening her eyes was too hard.

It was too late that Leo realized watching her suffer through another hour was worse than just ending her pain. But she was gone. And either way, he had killed her.


	13. Silence

" _Silence is a source of great strength." –Lao Tzu_

* * *

Silence.

Delicate, fragile, serene silence.

So many sought it, so many couldn't stand it. The brittle quiet that shattered at the simple mention of its name.

She had always revered silence, because it was such a difficult thing to find, such an easy thing to break, and often taken for granted.

Kind of like a heart.

Silence meant that no one was crying, no one was hurt, no one was screaming in heart-shattering, mind-wrenching pain. She had become so used to those noises–the screams and shouts and cries–that when they halted so abruptly, giving way to nothing at all, she was caught off guard.

To some, silence was just a break in between noises. To others, it was a different sound on its own. She liked silence, like the sweet, simple peace it brought, the olive branch it connected between sounds. Silence was a symbol of release. But now, silence was an unwelcome intruder, the thing she dreaded most.

What once was her saving grace now had become the bane of her existence. It had turned into something she cursed; yet, she still expected to hear it every morning, as much as she wished she didn't have to.

Every moment that passed of the unbearable, excruciating-still quiet, the cracks that lined the seams of her already-broken heart widened a little more. The tears that dripped out of her gray eyes appeared a little more often. The feverish whispers that seemed to come from the very depths of her tortured soul became a little more desperate, a little less loud. And the strong, seemingly unbreakable will that made up her soul, her very being, started to give up a little more.

The false hope that she had supplied herself with from that start was proving to be just that–false.

She was intelligent–perhaps more than most–yet hope was something that made the days seem a little shorter, when in reality, it made the wait become a little longer. The temptation of hope had clouded her brilliant mind. Silence had a hand in all of this; by saying nothing, the hushed tranquility laid out the simple story of everything.

•

Months passed.

The rest of the campers left her alone. Let her mourn by herself, wrapped up in her suffocating blanket of silence, sometimes joining her to momentarily break the never-ending period of quiet. Some of them whispered words of fallacious encouragement while others just succumbed to the numbing quietude.

A year went by.

"I–I'm sorry, Annabeth," Will whispered, coming up behind her. It seemed at times that the daughter of Athena spent more time in the infirmary than her own cabin. "I've even asked my dad–he says…" The sunny expression that was usually on his face deflated. "He says–"

Annabeth sighed running a hand through her hair; she seemed defeated, inside and out. "I'm not an idiot, Will," she cut in, tears threatening to cut into her voice. "I know he's gone. I can tell when a person isn't coming back. Actually, I knew from the beginning."

She bit her lip, turning gray eyes towards the hospital bed. "I just–I just wanted to keep him for myself…" She laughed bitterly. "I sound so selfish…" she murmured. "I just wanted to see him a little more before he belongs to Hades forever…" That one wish sounded so simple, but hours turned to day, months, and finally, a year.

Will nodded. "Do you want to do the honors?" he asked.

Annabeth almost laughed again. "Well it's hardly an honor, but I guess… It's the least I can do after making him stay like this for so long."

He had been lying there for an entire year now, in this blurry stage between life and death–forever swimming in his own mind. Never being set free.

Annabeth had taken solitude in the peaceful sight of him lying there, completely stress-free for once in his life. But the obvious change was the loss of his voice, of sound, of life. And that was what broke her, once and for all.

Annabeth took a deep breath. "Goodbye…" Tears finally seeped out of her eyes. "Seaweed Brain…"

She pulled the cord from the wall and leaned into Will, pouring her heart out in the form of a salty flood as Percy's soul floated away to the lands of the Underworld. All that was left for her to do was wait, listening to the metronomic rhythm of silence.


End file.
